


Let Me Go. Please.

by StripedScribe



Series: Febuwhump2021 [28]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Death, FebuWhump2021, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Mourning, ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29754864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripedScribe/pseuds/StripedScribe
Summary: An accident, and death finally came for Matt. But although he was long buried, his spirit continued to haunt Foggy, tied to this world.He couldn’t let go. The shackle was tight around their hearts, and there was nothing he could do to release it. Matt continued to traipse behind him, a shadow passing through walls, his faint sounds keeping him distracted in the day, and then awake at night. The tap of a cane leaving him turning to tell a joke, freezing as the awful memories came rushing back.FebuWhump Day 28 [You Have To Let Me Go]
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Series: Febuwhump2021 [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136723
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Let Me Go. Please.

It had been weeks since Matt had passed. Weeks since they’d lowered his coffin into the ground, next to his father’s headstone. Not even Daredevil related, a freak accident, a quick death. Dressed in his best suit, a small service held in Clinton Church. The sobbing of everyone Matt had ever held close. He brushed off people’s offers to drop him home, wanting to be alone for a while.

It was only when he walked home from the church that he noticed the tapping of the cane behind him. Stepping to the side to let them pass, but they kept pace with him. He turned, and there was nowhere there. Just that ever familiar sound, and then the pressure of a hand on his arm.

“Matt?” A hallucination, surely. A ghost? A memory?

A regular path they’d taken together, meeting after Mass, going for food and coffee on a Sunday. His steps took him to the cafe they always visited, gravitating to their usual spot, a view out of the window for him. A waitress bringing over menus, one in braille, hesitating on realising he was alone, wearing a black suit, the weight of death on his shoulders.

The pain in her eyes, reflecting the pain in his.

“I’m so sorry.” His meal that day was on the house, not that he managed to taste any of it. Constantly feeling Matt’s presence, or absence, in front of him. Condolences and well wishes coming over from the staff, all instantly recognising or telling each other of the missing person. 

Missing. Such a small word for the hole in his heart. Dead, buried 6 feet under the ground.

Coming here felt like a mistake, but he wasn’t sure where else he was supposed to go. The sense of familiarity as the world changed around him.

He could almost convince himself Matt was sat in front of him. Could almost feel that presence, imagine the hand snaking across the table to hold in his own. Sharing bites from each others food. People watching, and sharing information about what they could sense around them, inside and outside. Talking about anything but work, and ending up talking about work regardless.

He left the cafe, forcing money into the tip jar even as they refused to take anything from him. The solidarity of mourning between strangers, the recognition of a loss. How fickle life was, that they could have had such an impact on people they didn’t even know names of. How human it was, to offer compassion to a stranger, and the simple acts of paying for someone else’s food.

There should have been two meals, not one. Two coffees, not one.

The hand he felt on his arm wasn’t real. It was just a memory. Just mourning. His feet took him home, slowing to a stop outside of Matt’s apartment.

Someone would need to sort it out. Did he even have a will? It was easy to open the door, to slip into the still air of the abandoned room.

And then to sink to the floor, tears finally falling. Never again would he come here for drinks after work, for late nights that ended up with them collapsing into the same bed. Never again would they bring work home, pouring over cases until the early hours of the morning. No more complaining about the billboard that still shone onto his face, red lighting up the room.

No more worrying if he was bleeding out on the floor in the middle of the night.

The door to the bedroom opened, a slow creak he barely noticed. The slow steps of feet around the bed disappearing into silence. A familiar memory, of Matt putting away, or getting the suit out. Still stashed down in the base of that chest, horns that would never again see the street.

Cries and screams that would go unanswered. Not that he could hear them, that had always been Matt’s curse. His to hold forever more, facts hidden from Foggy, the sounds of the world.

Imprints on the world. A ghost, a hallucination. Memories forcing themselves into reality, the only logical explanation of what was happening.

A tap of a cane in an empty office, the door opening that they all tried to keep closed.

They’d taken the files out that they needed, notes to be translated, but everything else was as it was the last day he was there. A shrine to Matt, a jacket draped over the back of his chair. A spare cane in the cupboard, leaning against the first aid kit. Braille reader in pride of place on his desk, the succulent he’d managed to keep alive, a gift from a client.

Karen did sneak in once in a while to water that one. Careful to not disturb anything, only to clear the dust once in a while. The room sitting there, waiting, never to be replace by someone else. Even as they realised they did need someone else, that the office was never going to be the same.

Not whilst Matt walked the floors still. Following Foggy, not speaking, an impression in the back of his mind, imprinted on his soul. Convincing himself he’d lost it, insanity in the place of mourning, denial manifesting into a hallucination. The creak of footsteps only he could hear, the opening doors the others never seemed to notice.

Until Matt spoke to him. A quip in the middle of court, and he nearly stood up and left, wanting to run to help. It was real, a hallucination couldn’t do all of that, surely?

And then he continued to speak. Whispers in the wind, the shape of a shadow as he walks the streets. Horns forming as they pass into the night, the presence of someone watching over him, as they always had done. His own guardian, the Devil of the night.

Matt seemed tired though. Tied to Foggy, being dragged around by him, a final attachment to the living world. Why would he want to pass on though? Surely, surely he wanted to stay? He had to stay. He couldn’t leave Foggy, pass on to never be able to speak to him again. He’d spend his time telling stories of memories, an imprint of his time in the world.

“You have to let me go.” He wanted to pass, to take that next step, whatever it was. To Heaven, or to Hell. Away from Foggy. “We’ll meet again Foggy, but I can’t stay. Please. Please let me go.”

It was torture. To try and convince himself that it was time, that their extra time was over.

It couldn’t be. He couldn’t let go. The shackle was tight around their hearts, and there was nothing he could do to release it. Matt continued to traipse behind him, a shadow passing through walls, his faint sounds keeping him distracted in the day, and then awake at night. The tap of a cane leaving him turning to tell a joke, freezing as the awful memories came rushing back.

He wanted to help. He could tell Matt didn’t belong here anymore, but as hard as he tried, he couldn’t let go. So he tried to ignore him, pretend he didn’t exist, that he couldn’t hear or see him.

It was like trying to ignore a part of himself.

This could be their second chance. He didn’t want to have to mourn Matt, to miss him, to not have him in his life anymore. To not have those words in his ear, inside jokes passed between them. A whisper under his breath that would always be heard.

Company as everyone around him mourned, sad eyes shared across a room. Daily phone calls from his family, the soft words asking how he was. Gifts from clients, bunches of flowers and food found on doorsteps. Cards stamped with ‘sorry for your loss’ arriving through the post.

A shared grief he couldn’t take part in, because Matt was still here. The Devil hadn’t left his post, not yet. Haunting the rooms they’d lived in together, grown in.

It couldn’t be Matt. But it was.

He’d never believed in ghosts, they were just stories, told to scare children and adults alike. Tricks from cameras, human minds convincing themselves of heard sounds. The sound of footsteps just a building settling, the creak of a door just the wind.

This had changed everything he thought of as real. He was either crazy, or this was real, and he couldn’t work out which was worse.

Questions asked to the memory of Matt. “Are you happy?”

Answers shifting from yes to no, as he tried to leave, and was held back from going. Forced to haunt him, stay with him, an invisible thread tying them together. And as the days wore on, they both became sadder, stuck in a loop of what should have been. Never able to move on whilst his spirit surrounded him.

He had to let him ago. He tried again, with all his thoughts, to release Matt. To let him pass on to whatever the next stage was, even as they were both filled with that uncertainty and fear.

He ended the lease on Matt’s apartment, moving his last few belongings into his own. Things that he couldn’t get rid of, clothes moving their way into his own wardrobe, stealing back the hoodies the used to share. A pair of red glasses finding a new home on his shelves, not time yet to let go of those.

The final few arrangements, marking Matt’s departure from the world. The sign on the front door removed, a day of tears as the much shorter one replaced it.

Revisiting that favourite cafe. Trying to keep good memories, of happier times. Imaging Matt’s grip on the world loosening, allowing himself to start to mourn. To finally let go of the footsteps following beside him. .

Flowers collected from a local shop before a walk to the church and finding his way to the Murdocks’ graves. Cleaning away invisible dirt on the headstone, maintained by the church, and even the older graves around them were well looked after.

The weight of a body behind his back disappeared. The flowers laid on a pair of graves, two souls reunited.

He returned to his own family, filling the walls with happier stories, distractions and memories all together.

It would get better. They could heal.

**Author's Note:**

> It's over! Thank you for an amazing month, thanks for all the kudos and comments! Come scream at me on Tumblr, and watch out as I carry on completing the Bad Things Happen Bingo for more of your favourite whump!


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